


Grimdark

by Showeranon



Category: Homestuck, MS Paint Adventures
Genre: AU, F/M, Gen, Metastuck, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-31
Updated: 2011-12-31
Packaged: 2017-10-28 13:45:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/308480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Showeranon/pseuds/Showeranon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>HSG becomes fed up with tumblr's sudden apotheosis and seeks to remedy the situation, yet in the process, finds himself waist deep in far more than he bargained for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Grimdark

**Author's Note:**

> This bit was inspired by a comic done by the lovely atomic, an artist of certain cult status in a certain series of threads found on 4chan's /co/.
> 
> For those that are not familiar, Metastuck is a fanadventure/universe spawned out of boredom and the first week of Hiatusstuck in the bowels of HSG. It features a Sburb session starring personifications of the four most active and pivotal Homestuck fandoms, those being the Homestuck General threads of 4chan's /co/, the massive Homestuck following of tumblr, the dedicated, though bumbling denizens of DeviantArt, and the MS Paint Adventure forums.
> 
> As personifications of their respective communities, the cast of Metastuck represents both the best and the worst things about each major part of the Homestuck fandom, effectively becoming caricatures of the people that they represent. Skaianet, r/homestuck, plus4chan, AO3, FF.net, and any others all died when the meteors came. Sucks to be them.
> 
> The original source of this material can be found on my Pastebin account here: http://pastebin.com/KJ3bNeVv
> 
> And, as always, you can check out my tumblr if that's your poison.

Of course. Out of all the team members, it had to the tumblr who ascended first. Not that HSG expected much out of deviantArt, but why not MSPAF? He was always going on about how he was supposed to be the leader, how he was the hero or some other bullshit that no one cared bout. No, it had to tumblr, that irredeemable bitch whore. Now did she not only have an even bigger ego to defend, but the firepower to back it up.

Then again, HSG was really the defining factor in the location of her sordid actions, the supplier of the guilty gizmo, and the instigator that drove tumblr to use the covertly alchemized bomb/dildo hybrid in the first place. If he was going to be bitching to anyone about this, he'd bitch to himself. If he were half as good at adventuring as he was at holding schizophrenic forum, he's have killed everyone's denizens at this point.

"Goddamn lousy feminazi bitch," the ginger genteel muttered to himself, making way up the slick face of a rather perverse rubber outcropping, "Why'd you have to go and fuck her anyway? Because she's a foxy slunt, you dumb homo tool. What, foxy? Oh hell no. She doesn't even have any boobage to speak of beyond an A cup, if that." He paused, throwing his gaze to the air perpendicular to his left shoulder, "Implying that doesn't make her about five time hotter than the would be with a double D.

"Hahaha, faggot. Would you get a load of this guy?" He asked to himself, thumbing in the direction of his face, "What are you, son, some kind of pedo?" He threw his head to the air to his right. "I'm sorry that you just have shit taste in women, dicktoast. Oh yeah, like you've ever even been with a woman before. Sorry that you can't get laid, bro, but you don't need to get angry about is and bitch to us. What the fuck do you mean 'I can't get laid?' You were there too, fuckface!" He held up his right hand and extended his index finger, "My penis was literally inside of her vagina, moving in and out in a thrusting manner. The resulting friction stimulated my shaft and brought me to orgasm, which may or may not have been accompanied by ejaculation." He continued to climb, "True story!"

Not that any of that mattered at this point. Had HSG been in the mood of a fine gentleman, clad in silken top hat and pince-nez, and had elected to stay behind after finishing himself and tend to the needs of his partner, he would not be in this situation complaining about it in the first place. Of course, HSG was very rarely an aristocracy of character. His flighty, rather dickish nature had given rise to fleeing as soon as he was satisfied. This did nothing in the way of improving his relationship with tumblr, even if his "hit-it-and-quit-it" approach to sex did leave the Thief with an impressive powerset and a rather snappy new set of attire. And were it not for so sadistic the science of sexual synergy performed on the shaky little lovetoy, tumblr promptly would have finished herself off with dexterous digits aplenty. Bitchier mood permitted, though she would not be invoking HSG's jealousy.

MSPAF, the upbeat shitstain, was more than thrilled. Though a bit taken aback at the rather unorthodox method of ascension, the resulting boon for the ream was substantial enough for even a prude such as him to overlook certain details. MSPAF's jubilation sickened HSG. Whatever happened to all those good times when they had talked bros? Backstabbing son-of-a-whore is what he was.

The only two reliable people in the entire Medium were hardly on HSG's whitelist at the moment. Their planning in the team's joint memo for their next collective move sickened HSG. Great big cosmic circlejerk is what it was.

All of that was behind him now.

Ever the go-getter and conniving dickweed, HSG would not let this indignation stand.

"Bitches trying to get me down and they got no idea what I got in store." He mumbled under his breath. His ascent had slowed, but was close to tapering off into a plateau. "What the hell do you think you're going to do? What else? I'm going God Tier. Yeah, right. Well why the fuck not? I peaked my echeladder streets ago. What the hell does that even mean. If you need to ask, you're streets behind. Either way, the only place left to go is up. And the only place beyond Titan Tempestuous is realizing the goodhood of the Prince of Rage!"

HSG's expression widened into a grin as he placed his right hand on the edge of the plateau. He quickly grabbed the edge with his left arm and was just as swiftly met with a biting pain throughout the length of his hand. He gritted his teeth, but no levee was ever built for such a hurricane.

"FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK!!!!" HSG exclaimed as he swung his body up to the smooth, flat surface. He grabbed his left wrist on bended knee and winced, "WHY THE FUCK IS HALF THIS GODDAMN PLANET MADE OF FUCKING GLASS?!?!?!? WHOSE BRIGHT FUCKING IDEA WAS THAT IN THE FIRST PLACE?!?"

Down in the valley below, a group of playful young eggs were passing their time in a way that most playful young eggs often do.

"Fart!" Exclaimed one, his companions not far behind him.

"Fart fart!" Another, stouter egg shouted. He playfully nudged his friend in the shell. The first egg quickly turned to see the other two eggs in their group wandering off to a nearby glade of dildos.

"Fart fart fart?" The first egg asked.

"Fart fart fart fart fart fart fart fart 'fart fart.'" His friend coyly remarked.

"Fart fart fart fart, Fart. Fart fart fart fart fart fart fart. Fart fart."

"Far fart, Fart's fart fart fart."

"Fart, fart Fart fart fart faaaaart fart. Fart fart."

"Fart," his friend responded, "Fart fart fart fart fart fart fart fart fart." Their conversation was cut off by a noise. Not a shriek, nor a scream. No, this was a cry: A cry so angry and terrible that the glass rods in the surrounding area began to resonate, emitting a haunting, sorrowful hum.

"Fart fart fart fart fart?!?"

"Fart fart, fart fart fart fart fart!"

"Fart fart fart fart fart?" He cried to his companion, terrified.

"Far fart! Fart fart fart fart fart fart. Fart fart fart fart fart fart!" No verbal consent was required; the pair took off through the valley, the second surprising fleet of shell for one of his gait. In moments they were gone.

HSG swiftly removed the provoking shard of glass from his hand, a cascade of blood staining his olive green sleeve into an ugly shade of brown.

"Fuck. Shit." He muttered. HSG attempted to suck on the wound, but it was too deep, too painful to even touch. Any blood that was not escaping from his body en masse began to boil.

"Guess anything that can help speed me along..." HSG looked over his right shoulder. On the horizon he spied a tall, thin structure jutting towards the sinking light of Skaia. No words; he knew that had to be done. The Prince retrieved a fire-engine red jet pack from his sylladex. The equipping rigmarole was far more difficult with a gimp hand, but that only made him all the madder. The Red Haired prince squatted and inhaled sharply. Without pause he dashed for the edge of the plateau and jumped, crying once more in righteous fury. His jetpack roared to life, sending him up and over the valley, careening towards the tower with violent abandon.

He was going to make that bitch eat her words.

Landing gently would be an incorrect way to describe HSG's arrival at the Quest Bed. A tumbling cloud of fervent thrashing and curse words would be a far more accurate way of saying it. His mouth full of rubber shavings, HSG spat them out along with several unkind remarks as to the Land of Glass and Rubber's character.

LOGAR was slightly hurt, but had since come to expect this sort of thing from the Prince at this juncture, so the remark didn't really sting. LOGAR quickly got over itself and went back to busying itself with planetary things.

HSG, on the other hand, began to busy himself with that which he deemed appropriate for a Prince orchestrating his own coronation.

His Quest Bed was similar to tumblr's; it certainly evoked some recent, sweaty memories. Though emblazoned in the center of the stone slab was not the pinwheel of Space, but rather the symbol of Rage, an odd amalgamation of fury and impulse. Seeing this excited HSG like no other. He knew that before long his snazzy fuckin' jacket would be similarly adorned with the symbol like a squire bearing into battle the standard of his royalty.

He made a fist with his injured hand, gritting his teeth, but smiling. The vermillion rain gracing the sleek purple surface of the tower reminded HSG that he had to work quickly if he wanted to see this through correctly. He made his way over towards the Quest Bed, slowly at first, but soon picking up his pace. He placed a leg up on the slab; the stone was a welcome change from the terrestrial makeup of LOGAR. At least it won’t shatter if I sit on it, the Prince thought.

From here on out things were simple. Reclining against one of the four pillars of his Quest Bed HSG knew what had to happen. Normally suicide would have been something that he’d have broken into tumblr for; an easy point of jeering contention. Ordinarily, the thought of taking his life would have been alien, full of dark mystique, and rather grisly.

But this was Sburb. It was abundantly clear that the rules were different here. The game put forward a set of rules and functions in such a way that it almost seemed inconvenient not to manipulate them. And given those rules and the people that were made to follow them, at least in this set of circumstances, it seemed wrong to do anything to the contrary. MSPAF would put the strength of the team above all else, and tumblr probably wouldn’t care even if HSG didn’t have a second shot (She may even endorse the idea!).

For what it’s worth, he really didn’t give a damn what they thought.

HSG didn’t have the proper cards in his Strife Deck to ensure a quick, easy, and figuratively clean demise. But this was HSG. He had proven himself good at anything it was being able to make something function when handed absolutely nothing. With little captcha rigmarole he produced a pair of bottles from his sylladex. One, glass, contained a clear liquid. The other, plastic, whose contents rattled as the container was moved into the physical realm.

“Years of mood stabilizers and I still can’t figure out with one I like better. Or which one actually worked.” He said dryly, still sarcastic as ever even when rummaging through Death’s game cupboard.

“Welp,” began the Red Headed Royal as he snapped off the container’s respective lids, “Sure as fuck ain’t no Bandol Red…” The alcohol was strong enough to make him turn up his nose, even at a distance. Perfect.  
“Heaven or hell, let’s rock” He raised the bottle of liquid to the sky, “Here’s to the Huss.

The strong excuse for liquor burned at his throat and nostrils, and when peppered with pills he made a cocktail that his body wasn’t all too inclined to ingest. No pain, no gain I suppose. One bottle lay empty at his feet, the other, still in hand, serving to stupefy the situation even further. He was feeling a sharp buzz and a dull fuzziness all at once. He figured that for courtesy’s sake he ought to give his team members the low down, regardless of whether or not they were in the mood to hear him talk. The Prince tapped a clover shaped pin in the lapel of his coat. A dull blue display accented with green sprang to life and danced before him, holographic and translucent. HSG tapped a yellow box with one finger, entering his team’s joint memo.

Current homestuckGeneral [HSG] RIGHT NOW opened memo on board Circlejerkin’ Wonderland  
HSG: Hey guys. Big news.  
Current deviantArt [DVA] RIGHT NOW responded to memo.  
DVA: hsg-kun!  
DVA: *huggle glomps*  
DVA: ^________^  
HSG: Yeah, none of that shit.  
Current tumblr [TBR] RIGHT NOW responded to memo.  
TBR: what the hell do you want?  
HSG: Okay.  
HSG: Listen up, assholes, ‘cause this shit is big.  
HSG: Like, DMK’s huge, blubbery asshole big.  
TBR: don’t make fun of people’s weight you ectonormalist!fuckhead.  
TBR: it’s really #rude.  
DVA: who is dmk?!?!? (ò_ô)  
HSG: Are you guys gonna shut thef fuck up or what?  
TBR: …  
DVA: *perks up her ears and listens intentively*  
Current MS Paint Adventure Forums [MSP] RIGHT NOW responded to memo.  
MSP: Just tell us, HSG.  
HSG: Alright.  
HSG: Get this.  
HSG: So I found my quest bed right?  
HSG: Yeah, I’m sitting on it right now.  
HSG: And I just took a bottle of oxy and a half of everclear.  
HSG: I’m gonna go god tier guys.  
MSP: …  
MSP: No way.  
TBR: suicide isn’t something you joke about you insensitive!asshole!  
TBR: it’s a serious thing!  
DVA: nooooooo!~~  
DVA: hsg-kun~ T____T

HSG cut the memo short right there. No need to deal with his teammate’s vapid bullshit at this juncture. He leaned his head back against the pillar and shut his eyes. Arm betwixt arm, he could feel the edge of the cliff. His muscles began to relax into an almost euphoric state; it was incredible that he was able to produce so much an errant finger twitch, much less the droll grin that graced his mouth. The edge crept closer, and his toes were dangling off now, taunting the abyss. There was no staring contest. The impassioned royalty accepted his fate. He jumped as his body gave way to the poison. And as he fell, the ginger felt a sense of smug satisfaction.

“Everything is finally paying off…” HSG muttered, compressed by the Kevorkian cocktail. His body collapsed onto the cold stone slab, and he entered free fall, the cliff no longer in sight.

And then he landed. No soft landing, no safety net. He impacted on something. Hard. HSG sat bolt upright, his cranium narrowly missing one of the corner posts of his Quest Bed in doing so. His limbs were made so feeble by the poison that he could barely support himself, throwing prostrate across the smooth expanse. Every inch of his body was simultaneously ablaze and immersed in a suffocating layer of thick, oily sensation. His vision was blurred, though it became quickly apparent to the Prince that he was still on the Land of Glass and Rubber. And even more troubling to HSG was the examination of his sleeves; they remained a dull shade of olive green. No transformation had occurred, no exaltation and apotheosis. The Prince remained very much a mortal; very much alive.

“Wh… What.” He sputtered, his tongue seized on dull strings yanked by a brain-dead puppeteer, “I was supposed to go God Tier… I was supposed to…” He coughed a wet, hacking cough, full of phlegm and bile. A macabre reflection of its progenitor.

“I was supposed to die…” He slammed a barren fist to the stone, “I was supposed to ascend.” Another cough, this time accompanied by a modest quantity of vomit. Sickly pale green, nearly matching his jacket color, stained his faded blue jeans.

“THIS WASN’T SUPPOSED TO HAPPEN!” HSG held a fist to the sky as best he could, furiously cursing Skaia, himself, and most of all the Thief. Surely, this was her fault, somehow. Though weakened still, HSG doubled over once more onto all fours, vomiting with greater force and potency. His thin, wiry arms gave way under the weight of his own body. HSG collapsed into a humiliating pool of his own excrement, though not before producing even more. The Prince struggled to keep his eyes open, the rest of his senses overwhelmed by poison and noxious vapors.

Lids aflutter, the Titan passed into a distressed limbo. All sensation ceased. He simply lay there amid slurry of self-loathing and bile. Were one to happen upon this scene, they would most certainly turn their noses up in repulsion.

And as it would be, something did happen upon this scene.

Far gone yet not forgotten, the Dark Gods were sequestered beyond all perception in the inky black reaches of the Furthest Ring, even further from Skaia than moon of Derse. So distant, yet, ever watchful, ever influential. Though everything in the Incipisphere carries importance, and in the same way serves as a potential pawn in the machinations of the Dark Gods, the resident dreamers of the towers of Derse were their most favorite subjects. Potentially corruptible, yet not inherently passive and compliant to command. And possessing such a degree of influence on the future of the Medium made them the perfect employees.

The heroes of Derse, however, were still players. They could not be overcome unless by their own volition or weakness of mind and character. The Dark Gods were aware of the Thief’s apotheosis. She was not entirely a lost cause, though her prime for subjugation had clearly passed. A valuable asset, though impractical to utilize. Their inky lens instead shifted focus to the Prince of Rage, whose most recent set of circumstances had given rise to a very lucrative opportunity for the Noble Circle of Horrorterrors.

There was an echo, as if speaking inside of dank cave. HSG’s thoughts were erratic, though stretched few and far between. Everything was muddled, as if one was looking and listening through a pane of frosted glass. Nothing made sense and only one thing was apparent: He had fucked up. For the first time in his life, he was willing to concede his mistakes. The strength of ego had met it’s Paris, contended, and fallen.

This sudden weakness made the job of infiltrating the mind of the Prince of Rage a relatively simple task. Though years of slumbering on Derse’s moon had made his mind all the more susceptible to intrusion, no direct action could be taken unless the circumstances allowed. This just so happened to be one of those sets of circumstances.

The Dark Gods came upon the Prince chin deep in various fluids and quickly went to work. Their tendrils poked, prodded, and slithered about HSG’s mental expanse. Dank, misty, and cavernous, it held many secrets, things that HSG would never have wanted anyone to know, and some things about which not even he was aware. Subtle, nefarious, but not unnoticed. Though drowned in stupor and his personal pungent vapors the frosted glass through which he perceived the world still allowed light to pass through. HSG felt their intrusion, and the Horrorterrors quickly realized that their entrance into the Prince’s psyche would not be nearly as simple as they had imagined. They prepared for resistance.

And none came. HSG could sense the Dark Gods’ slight confusion, to which he cracked a smile.

“W..what? You were expecting a fight, huh?” HSG raised his body, supported on shaking limbs, weak though they were, “You think I… You think I don’t want this?” The Dark Gods began probing deeper. Turns and twists in the confines of HSG’s subconscious, they happened upon fragments of what constituted the Titan’s being. Childhood memories, plagued with self-loathing and regret, current thoughts of hate, vengeance, and degradation. It was all too perfect; a fertile landscape in which to plant their seed, “What are you waiting for, squiddly… Just do it.”

A seed which was unafraid to destroy itself growing into a tree.

“JUST DO IT!!!” HSG bellowed, once again causing the glass pillars to vibrate and hum their low, musical resonance. The Horrorterrors seized the Prince and came upon every aspect of his being, completely engulfing him in their dark rapture. Above the tower, the sky darkened, and fell pillar of thick, spiny tendrils descended upon his meager form. The Prince heaved his chest and fell. Drawing another wry smirk, he caught himself before collapsing, his chest suspending the rest of his body a few inches above the cold stone warmed with alcohol and failed aspirations.

HSG steadied himself, twisting his body into a standing position like a terrible marionette, hovering just a few inches from the Quest Bed. His skin was now greyed as though dusted by a liberal helping of charcoal, and about his wiry body wreathed a dark energy; flame black as an ocean trench and just as chilling. His feet touched down on the slimy rock. He exhaled, blowing from his mouth a thick cloud of smoke which shaped itself into a mass of writhing tentacles as it dissipated. His lips drawn back revealed his teeth now stark white against his skin.

His body went slack with the deep exhalation. For the first time in his life, HSG could hear himself think. No more would he have to endure the countless voices. His thoughts were organized, indexed and rational. His knuckles white from years of constantly clenching his fists finally relaxed. His pulse steadied and slowed. He squinted as he gazed towards Skaia, admiring its radiance.

For the first time in his life, he was calm. For the first time in his life, he felt chill, as though everything was right with himself. The game, the quest, the failed ascension, the Thief… None of it mattered anymore. The dildos seemed more vibrant, and the glass rods refracted light in a spectrum that the Prince was not even aware existed until this point. Behind him, an unmistakable set of wings aflutter broke HSG from his pleasant reverie. The Prince slowly directed his attention across the Quest Bed. MSPAF stood in awe, a dumb expression of wonder and confusion painted on his pallid face. Seeing that HSG was aware of his presence, he quickly assumed a fighting stance, his key-gun held at the ready. There was a long, pensive silence. MSPAF was the first to break it.

“…H-HSG? I started coming here as fast as I could when you said you were about to kill yourself and I just wanted to see if everything had gone alright what with your ascension but I mean now you’re all dark and stuff and but I guess that…” He stammered, “Is that y-you?” HSG exhaled deeply, blowing a long black cloud from his nose. Hands in pockets, he turned to face the Heir. The Prince cocked his head at a playful angle.

“Yeah, bro. It’s me,” he shifted his head to one side, “Who else would I be?” MSPAF was visibly nervous and did not respond. His lips stayed together as if they were bolted shut by his nerves. HSG raised an eyebrow and looked up to the pillar of dark energy hovering above the tower.

“What, this thing making you nervous?” He threw a dismissive gesture in MSPAF’s direction, chortling, “Don’t let it. There’s nothing to worry about.”

“N-nothing to worry about? Fuck, I mean, sorry… How is there nothing to worry about? You’ve gone off the deep end in every way!” HSG chuckled. MSPAF bit his lip in frustration.

“Nope. It’s all good. I don’t see why there’s any cause for alarm.” He threw his hands back in a ‘No-idea’ gesture and then let his arms fall to his sides, swinging there for a moment.

“B-but you’ve gone grimdark! You’re playing pawn to the Horrorterrors!” MSPAF was quickly becoming exasperated, “How can we complete the game when one of our players is a servant of darkness?!?” HSG held up a flat palm, shaking his head.

“Bro, don’t sweat it. Darkness is not the opposite of light,” he began, stepping forward, “It is the absence of light.” He stepped next to MSPAF, who faltered backwards, almost dropping his key when HSG placed a hand on his shoulder.

“I know what I’m talking about, man.” The Prince gazed upwards once more, admiring the brilliance of Skaia's rays.

“I feel fantastic.”


End file.
